


take me home

by txmaki



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Bad Humor, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Smut, depictions of violence, i'm really proud of this, ish, kinda smutty, light comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 13:26:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15120350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txmaki/pseuds/txmaki
Summary: in which both Connor and Y/N know nothing good can come out of it, but you can only hold out for so long.





	take me home

**Author's Note:**

> "now he's moving close,  
> my heart in my throat  
> i won't say a word,  
> but i think he knows  
> that i've hardly slept since the night he left  
> his body always kept mine inside of it.  
> keep the nightmares out,  
> give me mouth to mouth  
> i can't live without you  
> take me to your house."
> 
> \-- home, daughter

Connor’s kiss sends you spiraling into another universe altogether. He’s holding your face in his hands and you’re grasping at the hair at the nape of his neck because you need to hold onto something or else your too-weak knees will cause you to crumble. Your heart is ramming into your chest so hard you’re almost sure that it will break through your rib cage.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, moving his hands from your face to your hips. You’re against the door behind you, but Connor pulls you swiftly against him and it makes you melt in his arms.

The phrase “putty in your hands” has a whole new meaning, now.

-

_The station is a lot bigger than you remember._

_Of course, it had been a few weeks since you last set foot in it, but nonetheless - the ceilings tower high above you and from the glimpse you caught of the detainment cells, they were nothing short of large._

_You allow your gaze to drift over the sea of desks when you finally get to that point, looking around for an empty one. A quite impossibly grumpy detective had mumbled for you to find one that somebody wasn’t sitting in. You questioned the logic of it all but chose to ignore it; you didn’t want to get shot on your first day._

_You see an empty desk with no name tag quickly and shuffle your way over to it. Between your bag, a few files, and your scalding cup of coffee it was hard not to walk fast. When you finally place your stuff down on the empty desk, you notice a man sitting to your left. He looks a little awkward and stiff, sitting up straight with his feet flat on the ground._

_You don’t fail to notice that he is quite attractive. His eyes are a warming brown but seem calculating, analytical - which makes sense, you think to yourself, noticing the model number on his jacket and the LED on his temple. He must be the one who helped with the deviant-homicide cases._

_He must sense that you’re looking at him because then he turns his head towards you, raising an eyebrow just a bit. You sputter for a moment, surprised at his sudden movement, before finally finding your words._

_“Do you know where Lieutenant Hank Anderson is?” You ask, noticing the plate on the desk across from the android’s. The seat is empty._

_“Captain Fowler didn’t seem too happy with him. They’re in the Captain’s office right now,” the android says, pointing towards the office (which kind of just looked like a giant glass box). Through the glass, you see two figures and automatically guess which person is which. You nod with a small “ah, thanks” before sitting down in your own seat. You play with your fingers as you wait for Hank to finish up in the Captain’s office, picking away the stubborn pieces of old nail polish._

_“My name is Connor, by the way,” you hear the android - Connor, now - speak. You raise your head and smile at him, offering a hand for him to shake. His hand is cold, but his skin is smooth against the pads of your fingers._

_“So I’ve heard,” you hum, recalling a few officers talking about a certain Connor when you first came in. “Nice to meet you, Connor. I’m Y/N.”_

_Connor offers you the slightest hint of a smile and that alone sends a soft chill down your spine. The conversation continues fluidly - a few stalls when neither of you knew what to say, but nothing more than a few seconds. It’s comfortable, talking to Connor._

-

You never expected Connor to be so good at this. Honestly.

It wasn’t even you trying to be teasing; Connor was made for detective work, he wasn’t like those androids at Eden Club or anything of the sort. The idea of love, the emotion in itself, wasn’t something he seemed all-too interested in, regardless whether he wanted to be or not.

You let out a short breath at the feeling of his teeth grazing your ear, because _oh_ , is he good at this.

-

_“23 year-old female, Nikki Long,” a police officer says as you step into the apartment with Hank and Connor. “Injuries include multiple stab wounds and a blunt-force trauma to the head.”_

_The apartment - which, if you were being honest, was more like a penthouse - was well decorated, minus the blood spatter on the wall in the living room. Well decorated, same colors throughout the home - Nikki knew what she was doing._

_A broken lamp flickers on the floor next to the body of an awfully skinny young woman. Her dark hair covers her face - thank God - but you can see a small pool of blood from where she was hit in the head. There aren’t many stab wounds, from what you can see, and they all range in the lower torso. You crouch next to the woman and try to remember your anatomy as you scan the wounds._

_“The knife didn’t hit any major arteries or blood vessels,” you say, standing up to face Hank. “What killed her was whatever hit her head.”_

_Hank nods, and then you hear Connor from somewhere else in the apartment about finding the weapon. You look back at Hank and he mumbles something about catching up with you and Connor in a second. Shrugging, you turn back to where you heard Connor, finding him in a hallway next to some sort of decor; one of those wooden signs that say “peace”. There’s a small spatter of blood on the edge of it._

_“This is… ironic, isn’t it?” Connor asks, looking up at you from his crouched position on the floor. You furrow your brows._

_“The sign says “peace”, as if it were peaceful here, but Long was killed with this, so it can’t be peaceful.”_

_Connor seems genuinely interested to get the idea of irony now, and that makes you chuckle more than you’d like to. He looks confused once your shoulders start shaking, but you hold back a full laugh and nod. Connor offers the slightest of smiles in return._

_“Why are you laughing?” He asks, which makes you laugh harder, because it’s honestly kind of cute that he doesn’t understand. You hold a hand over your mouth, as if it would hold back your giggles, and finally get yourself together._

_“Nothing,” you say, looking at Connor as he stands up. “It’s nothing - yeah, it’s ironic. That’s irony.”_

_Connor stares at you for a moment, eyes gracing over you like he’s trying to figure something out. You give him a confused glance when he leans forward a bit, his warm eyes flickering to your lips. Oh, you realize, and your face flushes._

_“I don’t understand,” Connor murmurs, his cold fingers ghosting over your own. They flinch at the sudden touch, but don’t move away. His lips are right there, they’re so close to your own, and you’re simply waiting for the feeling you know will come. “I don’t know what I’m… feeling, per se…”_

_You’re so close to that warmth fluttering against your chest but at the last moment you see Connor’s eyes dart to look above you and then he’s pulling you to his chest in a way meant only for protection. Your eyes go wide against his chest and you turn your head to see what he’s pulling you away from only to see a fucking person jumping down from the ceiling, right where you were seconds ago._

_The whole scene seems to go in slow motion._

_The figure - a human, for lack of an LED and the cut from his arm bleeding red - grunts as he lands in your place and then bolts down the hallway. Connor swiftly pushes you to the side of him and then starts running after the culprit. You stand, phased, as the whole play goes down, hand resting over your heart to feel it’s skipping beats altogether for a multitude of reasons._

_You let out a deep breath, closing your eyes in attempt to calm yourself down. A hand cups your shoulder - you don’t fail to jump - and you turn to see Hank looking at you with a look on his face close to concern._

_“You okay, kid?” He asks, and you nod slightly, biting the inside of your cheek. “What the hell happened?”_

_So you tell Hank about the guy from the ceiling and how Connor saved you from something most certainly likely to kill you. You tell him all that happened._

_….Minus a few things._

-

Fingers grip at your hips hard, a soft curse and Connor’s name leaving your lips like some sort of mantra, lyrics from a song you’ll never write. His fingertips aren’t cold nor hot, somewhere in between, and they send chills up your spine like no tomorrow.

A hand leaves your waist to find the lock on the door behind you, turning it shut so your privacy isn’t interrupted. The _click!_ it makes is thrilling to you, somehow, knowing where you are and what you’re doing behind closed doors. Connor’s hands grab at the backs of your thighs - you feel weak at the realization that his hands are fucking _huge_ \- and you know what he wants, so you jump up and wrap your legs around his hips.

He easily picks you up and walks you over to the counter, lips only leaving yours to trail down your jawline. A hesitant thought crosses your mind - _Is this really what we should be doing?_ \- but it’s all gone when you feel Connor’s hands lift your shirt up, up, up, up…

-

_“Y/N.”_

_You turn your head to see Connor a few feet ahead of you, out of the light. He’s not trying to hide, but he seems awfully shady standing in the dark like that. A small smile works its way onto your lips._

_“Damn, Creeper, are you allergic to the light?” You tease, and Connor starts to tell you how he was designed to… oh. You smile grows as he comes closer to you._

_He sits in his own chair to the left of you, a little more lax than what you’ve seen. Instead of both feet on the floor, he has his legs crossed, hands over his lap. You put down your pen, pausing your report, looking over at Connor even though you already know what he’s here for._

_“What’s going on?” You ask, and Connor meets your eyes, unwavering._

_“I wanted to talk about… what happened at the crime scene the other day,” he starts, and you nod. “I do quite like you - which is strange, because I don’t feel much - and it’s safe to assume you feel the same way, but I feel it would be… a bad call to expand on those feelings. Unprofessional, if you will.”_

_You nod again, the tiniest hint of pain in your heart, although you do understand._

_“I get it,” you reply, and Connor seems happy to hear that you agree. “It would interfere with work and all that. It’s fine.”_

_And for a while, it is._

-

Connor’s picked you up again, taking you towards a stall in the back of the restroom. Your heart is thumping in your chest like fireworks boom on the Fourth of July, and you pull away from his lips to breathe, just for a moment.

Your shirt is lying forgotten on the ground, a pile of fabric left for later. Connor’s is halfway unbuttoned - and dear _Lord_ , does it look good on him - with his tie and jacket joining your shirt on the tile of the bathroom. Connor kisses you again, tongue licking past your lips and into your mouth. You hear, distantly, the slam of the stall door as Connor kicks it closed. You wonder if it’s really necessary, but soon forget about it because the tile of the wall is cool against your back and Connor’s hands are driving you crazy.

He seems to like the feeling of you in his hands, relishing in the curve of your body against his palm. You lean forward to kiss his jawline, shivering when you reach a spot that he seems to like (as the noise he lets slip past his lips is nothing short of electric). Your lips are reaching lower, to his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder…

Your fingers tremble as you reach for his belt, unbuckling it with practiced skill. Connor slides your pants down your legs.

-

_Hank is definitely at a bar. You know that - he always is. And if he’s not drinking at a bar, he’s drinking at home. The problem is that you need to find out which bar._

_Connor had a new report come in, a homicide across town. Hank wasn’t at the station, and it was well past eight, so you went to the most probable place to search for him. But when he wasn’t at Jimmy’s or the bar next to it, well…_

_You opted for you and Connor to split up, taking a part of downtown Detroit each. You had finished searching your side of the city, sitting down at the bar of some pub you didn’t know the name of, and when Connor walked in alone you knew he had no luck of finding Hank either._

_So you get a drink._

_Connor’s searching his way through the people - of course it’s crowded on a Friday night, you think - before he finally finds you. The bartender is pouring you a shot of vodka, and while he’s doing so you ask for some salt and a wedge of lime; Hank’s probably at home, and you don’t have work tomorrow, so…_

_“Hey, Connor,” you say once he gets to you, leaning against the bar. You take the shot, lick the salt off of your hand, and cringe at the sour taste of the lime. It all goes swiftly well together, though, so you suppose it’s worth it all. It doesn’t take much to notice how Connor’s looking at you while you drink, either._

_It’s not an amusing look, like he gives Hank, but it’s that look, one he’s given you only a few times before._

_“Bad idea,” you mumble to yourself because you’re thinking about Connor, about kissing him and feeling him. He must hear you, though, because he’s moving closer and you feel your heart surge up to your throat. You don’t say anything, but you’re sure he knows what’s running through your mind._

_“Unprofessional.” He says, and you make the mistake (though is it really?) of looking from his eyes to his lips and that’s all it takes._

-

Your heart is pounding against your chest, and all you can hear is yours and Connor’s labored breaths. He’s warm now, unlike he usually is, and his lips burn a path as he kisses your chest gently, up to the junction of your jaw and ear. You lean your head back to rest against the wall; you roll your hips one last time, more of a move of instinct than anything else, a broken whimper falling from your lips as Connor's grip tightens on you for a moment. You're relishing in the afterglow.

It never crossed your mind, how nice it would feel to have his chest against yours, to feel your fingers interlocking with his. The feeling, _this_ feeling, all of it - the feel of Connor, his hands on your waist, the fluttering in your chest, the beautiful burn of your lungs like you just ran a marathon - you can’t live without it; without _him_. Not anymore.

You rub your thumb along Connor’s cheekbone, looking at him fondly before pressing your lips against his in a sweet and gentle notion. He reciprocates, gladly, and your heart soars at the way he places a hand over yours.

It’s not until both of you are standing, clothed again with you buttoning up his shirt, that any sort of conversation stands between you two.

“What now?” Connor asks as you pick up his tie and wrap it around the collar of his shirt. You pull him down by it, softly, a sly smile playing on your lips.

“Take me home.”


End file.
